


May We Stay Lost (On Our Way Home)

by CyrusBreeze



Series: Fifteen Fics I’ll Never Fucking Finish [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, not complete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 11:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14188227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrusBreeze/pseuds/CyrusBreeze
Summary: Eliza Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton, and John Laurens were in a happy, healthy polyamorous relationship. At least until the twin towers fell and John decided to serve his country in the military. Ultimately, John made the ultimate sacrifice, and his partners were so scorned by Henry Laurens that they were not allowed to attend his funeral. But they did have one remaining piece of him: their son, Pip.Fifteen years later, fourteen year old Philip is stabbed in the lungs during what was supposed to be your typical  schoolyard fight. He is rushed to the hospital, where the cardiothoracic surgeon who saves his life looks suspiciously like his dead biological father.





	May We Stay Lost (On Our Way Home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myhamartia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamartia/gifts).



> As of current, I have no plans to finish this fic. However, if I do decide to work on one of the Fifteen Fics I’ll Never Fucking Finish, this one is amongst the top, depending on reader interest. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was brought to you by Easter break, (shout-out to my Baptist college for a four day weekend), binge watching two shows targeted at seven year olds, Peeps, and $12 Jamba Juice. Shockingly, no caffeine was involved in the making of this fic. 
> 
> Also, I’m not a doctor but I did research. Still, there’s pribably medical inaccuracies. 
> 
> Warnings: mention of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, losing a limb, dying in combat, amnesia, violence, and also internalized homophobia. 
> 
> Also: THIS FIC MAY OR MAY NOT EVER BE COMPLETED! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

“Mr. Hamilton?” The receptionist, who was new and whose name Alex couldn’t remember for the life of him, poked her head into the doorway of his office. 

Alexander looked up from where he was researching for a case and offered a smile that probably looked like more of a grimace. He hated being interrupted while he worked. “Yes?” He called, trying to school his features to appear neutral and not at all annoyed. 

“Your son’s school called,” the receptionist said. “They said it’s extremely important and that it’s an emergency.” 

“Shit. Put the school through to my private line, please.” Alexander sighed. Pip had probably gotten into another fight. He had John’s tendency to protect and fight for the rights of others, which would be extremely noble, if it weren’t for the fact that Pip was barely 5’2 and not even a hundred pounds soaking wet and which meant he usually ended up being on the wrong side of someone’s fist. They had enrolled Pip in self defense, but Pip had disliked it and they hadn’t been back. 

His office phone rang and he answered it. 

“My apologies for the delay,” Alexander answered smoothly. It was best to answer calmly because getting on the wrong side of the school’s administration meant Pip got suspended more often. 

The administrator on the other line, however, was far from calm. “Mr. Hamilton,” she began and her voice trembled. “Your son and another student got into an altercation off campus, and-“ The woman trailed off. “It was off campus,” she repeated. “And freshman aren’t supposed to leave during lunch break, so it wasn’t until Theodosia Burr came to get us that we knew anything had gone wrong, and, Mr. Hamilton, rest assured that this would have never happened on campus.” 

Alex was getting both nervous and angry now. What had happened to Pip? Did he have a black eye, a broke nose, had the Eacker bastard seriously injured his son? “Just get to the point,” Hamilton demanded.

“Your son was stabbed in the chest,” the woman said. “We called an ambulance and he’s being transported to Mount Sinai Children’s Hospital. We’ve already contacted your wife and she is on her way.” 

“Fuck,” Alex yelled, and then the phone was suddenly back in the cradle and he was downstairs and arranging for a Lyft before he even reloaded what he was doing. His brain was working on autopilot. According to the Lyft app, the hospital was twenty minutes away. His son could die. His son could be dead by the time he got there. 

His Lyft, a Kia Forte, pulled up to the curb. 

“Are you Alexander?” The driver asked.

“Yes. And if it can get us to the hospital in fifteen minutes, I’ll tip you $50,” Alexander settled into the back of the Lyft and buckled his seatbelt. 

“I don’t know if I can do that, sir,” the driver said. “Traffic is crazy this time of day.” 

“Please,” Alex begged. “My son got stabbed in the chest and they don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

The driver’s face changed immediately. “I’ll try my hardest, sir,” he said.

Alex pulled out his phone and dialed Eliza’s number automatically. 

“Alex,” she answered on the first ring.

“Betsey,” Alex breathed out. It was comforting to just hear his wife’s voice. 

“I’m on my way to the hospital,” Eliza said. “But I’m in Brooklyn and they said it’ll be a half hour.” 

“I’ll be at the hospital in fifteen minutes,” Alex reassured her. 

“We can’t lose him,” Eliza said, and her voice was so broken that it was physically painful. Alex felt as if he was the one who had been stabbed, had his heart torn from his chest.

He knew exactly what, exactly who, his wife was thinking about. It had fifteen years, to the day almost, since they had lost the other love of their lives, the man that completed them. Losing him had been so painful, but they had Pip, a reminder of the love they had once shared.

Pip was Alexander’s first born, the only person in his life who had stolen his heart instantly. He couldn’t imagine losing his boy. A sob tore itself from his body, all the way from his lungs. 

“Betsey,” He said, and her name was like a prayer on his lips. He wished that she was there, able to bring him back to earth, and away from the dark edges that his mind was traveling to. 

“We can’t lose him,” Eliza repeated. 

“We can’t lose him,” Alex agreed. He glanced at his phone. “I’ll be there in eleven minutes, okay, Betsey. I’ll update you as soon as I hear any news. I’m going to call Meghan so that she can pick up the little ones, okay?” 

“Okay, Alex,” Eliza agreed. “We can’t lose him,” she repeated. “Alex, we cannot lose Pip.” 

“I know,” Alex agreed. “We are not going to lose our son. I’m going to hang up now. I need you to call Angelica or Peggy and stay on the phone with them until you get to the hospital. Okay, Betsey?” 

“I love you,” Eliza whispered into the phone. 

“I love you too,”Alex replied. And then he hung up. 

He immediately called Meghan afterward. She answered on the third ring. 

He could hear Jamie babbling excitedly in the background. They must be doing something fun. He imagined his little guy covered in paint or cooking ingredients, it helped to keep him grounded. He briefly considered how much he should tell Meghan. He wanted her to know what was going on, but he didn’t want to alarm her. 

“Pip is in the hospital,” he said, the words tumbling out of his moth before he could stop them. 

“Oh my god,” Meghan said. “Is he okay?” 

“We dot know yet,” Alex answered honestly. “I know I was supposed to pick up Angie and AJ from school today, but I’m going to need you to pick them up.” 

“Of course, absolutely, sir,” Meghan said sharply. 

Alex liked her. She never asked too many questions. She didn’t pry, and she was a hard worker. 

“Thank you so much, Meghan. I’ll keep you updated with information when we receive it. Please keep the kids out of the loop.” 

“Of course,” Meghan agreed. “I would never. Not unless you...” 

“Thank you,” Alex cut her off. “Call Catherine or Peggy if you need anything. Unless it’s an emergency, I don’t think Eliza or I will be answering our phones.” 

“Yes, sir,” Meghan said. “I’ll be praying for Pip.” 

Alex tried not to grimace. He knew that the girl meant well, but he had stopped believing in a gracious God when the first person he had ever loved was blown to bits in Afghanistan. If he had not had Eliza, and eventually, Pip, Alex knew that he would’ve elected to join John, but he had a family to take care of. “Thanks, Meghan,” he said, and then he hung up. 

The Lyft driver pulled into the drop off zone of the hospital. It took only fourteen minutes. 

“Good luck with your boy,” the driver said.

“Thank you so much,” Alex said sincerely. “I appreciate it.” 

“It’s no problem,” he driver said. “I’ll be thinking about you and your boy. I hope he comes out of this okay.”

“Me too,” Alex agreed. “Me too.” 

He stepped out of the car just as his phone pinged, reminding him to rate the driver and tip. He gave the driver a 5 and tipped the man $75. He stepped inside of the hospital. It wasn’t as busy as he expected. In fact, there were only two individuals sitting at the reference desk. 

“How can I help you?” One of the women asked. 

“I’m looking for Pip- Phillip Hamilton. He’s my son. They brought him in because he got stabbed. He’s-“ Alex couldn’t find it in himself to continue. 

The receptionist looked at him with pity in her eyes. She typed a couple of things into her computer.

“He’s on the third floor and is currently in surgery right now,” the woman said. “If you take the elevators up to the third floor and walk down the hallway, you’ll find a waiting room on your right hand side. The doctors will update you there when they have news.”

“Thank you so much,” Alex said, and then he shot off, struggling to wait for the elevators. They arrived quickly, but for Alex it felt like it had taken forever. He pressed the button for the third floor three times and allowed himself to truly think for the first time since he had received the news. The phone call itself had brought back memories, memories of Henry Laurens calling him and telling him that John was dead, and that he and Eliza were not to attend the funeral. Memories that made his heart clench and squeeze. 

He stepped into the elevator when it arrived and pressed the button for the third floor, trying to force thoughts off death out of his mind. His son was not going to die. He couldn’t die. The doors to the floor opened, and Alex stepped out. 

He scrambled down the hallway and entered a room with a sign that read, “Emergency Surgery Wait Room.”

There was no one in it. Alexander sank into a chair. His son could be dying, and he had no choice but to do anything but wait. 

-X- 

John Laurens had been on call for exactly seven minutes when his tablet beeped with an emergency. 

Of course, that was the nature of cardiothoracic surgery. Hearts and lungs were incredibly fragile things, and without them, it was instant death, which meant that emergencies happened often. On-call shifts were the worst, however. A minimum of 24 hours on his feet was hell on his prosthetic leg, but he had learned relatively quickly how to determine when he absolutely needed to rest and give his leg a break. 

“Fourteen year old with a puncture wound in his upper chest. They’re pretty sure that it hit his lungs and it is very close to his aorta,” explained Dr. Barton, she was a trauma surgeon who would be assisting on the case. She was scrolling through her tablet with the incoming information. “The object is still lodged between his ribs.”

John swore. “So, we’re getting him up to the OR almost immediately?” John asked. “and we use a portable ultrasound to see what got hit?” 

“Sounds like a plan, Dr. Laurens,” Dr. Barton gave him a small smile. “Would you like to take the lead?” She asked. 

John sighed. It was very clear that Dr. Barton was flirting with him. It had been going on for several months. Dr. Barton was nice, and the type of person that John’s father would absolutely love for him to marry, but John had his doubts. “Yeah, I’ll take the lead.” 

It was a given that he was going to take the lead anyway, given how close the object was to the boy’s aorta.

They arrived in the emergency bay just as the aid car pulled up. 

“Philip Hamilton,” the paramedic, Rush, if John wasn’t mistaken, said. “Fourteen years old. Stab wound to the chest. The knife wasn’t removed and is lodged between his third and fourth rib. Lung puncture is likely. We’ve been keeping him as still as possible.” 

The paramedics very carefully lowered the gurney. 

“Are my parents here?” The boy, Philip, asked. He was gasping for air, despite the oxygen mask on his neck. 

John’s eyes went wide. 

“How is he still conscious?” He mouthed to the paramedic. 

Even if the boy hadn’t lost blood, the combined pain and lack of oxygen should’ve knocked him out. 

Rush shrugged, but he was very clearly amazed as well. 

“I don’t know if your parents are here yet, Philip, but we’re going to take good care of you, alright?” Dr. Barton said comfortingly. “I’m Dr. Barton and that’s Dr. Laurens. Do you know your blood type?” She asked. 

“O negative,” Philip answered, gasping for air. They entered the door of the hospital. 

“That’s good, okay. Do you have any allergies?” Dr. Barton asked. 

“Penicillin,” Philip whispered. John could tell that the boy was in intense pain. He had to me, there was a nice sticking out of his chest. 

John gave a small smile. He too was allergic to penicillin. It made being prescribed antibiotics quite difficult.

“Alright, very good, Philip, have you ever been under anesthesia?” John asked. 

The boy nodded. “I had my tonsils out when I was six.” 

They entered the elevator and John pressed the button for the OR floor. 

“My parents,” Philip repeated. “Are they here? Can I see them?” 

“I don’t know if they’re here,” Dr. Barton said. “But right now we have to get you into the operating room, okay, Philip.” 

“I have to live,” Philip said. “They can’t lose me too. Please, make sure I know they love them.”

“We’re gonna go in the operating room and you’ll be able to come out and tell them yourself,” Dr. Barton said. 

John flinched. He disliked when doctors made promises like that, especially to children, especially when who they had no idea what was going to happen once they pulled the knife out. 

They dropped Philip off in the operating room and both of them went to scrub in. 

“What do you estimate’s gonna happen when we pull that knife out?” John asked Dr. Barton as they both placed their hands under the streak of water. 

“I’d give him less than 2 minutes before he bleeds out,” Dr. Barton answered. “It’s a miracle that whoever stabbed him didn’t pull the knife out or he’d be dead right now.”

John huffed as he finished cleaning his hands. “I’m going to place a chest tube and clamp the vessels around the wound before we remove the knife to limit the amount of blood loss. I’ll need you to take over after we remove the weapon because you’re better with dealing with emergency trauma wounds.”

“If that knife moves a single inch, we’ll have to get it out immediately.” 

“I know,” John sighed again. He had done hundreds of surgeries like this, but there was something about this surgery felt different. He couldn’t place it. He dried his hands, and then he stepped into the OR. 

Philip was already under anesthesia when John approached table. 

“Scalpel,” he called calmly to the scrub nurse. 

There was a reason that John was an excellent surgeon and it was because he had an uncanny ability to focus. Once he was ‘in the zone’ so to speak, he didn’t leave it for hours. It meant that he minimized on mistakes by not losing focus. 

He lost track of time as he worked to alleviate the boy’s pneumothorax. Pneumorthoraxes were among the most common cardiothoracic procedures, so he remained calm and collected. Once he and Dr. Barton removed the knife and stopped the bleeding, it was smooth sailing from there as they debrided the wound. So, John let his focus slip the slightest bit. Apparently, however, Dr. Barton saw this as her opportunity to direct her conversation with the scrub nurses toward John. 

“Are you planning on attending the Dr. Sampson and Dr. Ludington’s wedding?” She asked John. 

John tried not to roll his eyes. He hadn’t planned on it, mainly because attending a wedding implied that you supported it, and that was far from the truth. Unlike South Carolina, his peers in New York were far more left leaning and accepting of things like gay marriage. Legal nationwide or not, John knew he would have never received an invitation to a lesbian wedding back home. 

“It depends on if I’m on call or not,” John answered. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but at least he’d have an excuse as to why he didn’t plan on going. 

“Well, if you are going, I was wondering if you wanted to go together,” Dr. Barton intoned. 

Oh. _Oh._ John kept his focus on debriding the wound. That was not what he was expecting, and he wasn’t sure how to react. He hadn’t come to New York for this. He had come to New York to regain his memories, to figure out what on God’s green earth had possessed him to join the military. What had he loved so much that he wanted to protect? He had lost six years of his life when he had been injured in Afghanistan, six years that he had no idea what he had been doing or who he knew. 

Whatever the case was, it was clear that whoever he loved so passionately that he wanted to protect did not love him back, otherwise she would have come for him even after he was transferred to a hospital in Carolina. He had no idea why they didn’t come. Perhaps they didn’t want to deal with his memory loss. Or maybe they didn’t want to deal with having a disabled boyfriend. 

Still, he wanted, no, needed, to find himself and who he was back then. 

“If you’re not interested,” Dr. Barton was saying, jolting John back to the present. “You can just tell me.” 

“No, no,” John said quickly. This could be good for him. “I’d like that. I just zoned out for a moment,” he said. “And if I’m on call that day, we can do lunch or something at another time.” 

Even though her mouth was covered by the mask, John could see Dr. Barton’s Duchenne marker. She was smiling. “It’s a date,” she said. 

John could do this. He could prove to his dad that New York was going to be good for him. He and his father had argued about his move for months before it had actually happened. He still remembered exactly what he had said to his father to let him go. 

_”Do you know something I don’t know?” He had asked. “Is there something in New York that you don’t want me to find? Or is it someone? Because I’m sick of you being overprotective dad. I have to be my own person, and that means I have to find myself. And the only reason I can think for you not wanting me to do that is because you’re hiding something from me.”_

_His dad had sighed. “Fine, John, do whatever you want, but don’t blame me if you discover something you don’t want to.”_

John didn’t care if he discovered something that he didn’t want to, he wanted to discover who he was. And perhaps dating Dr. Clara Barton would help with that. 

John stared at the patient as he finished debriding the room. The boy, Philip Hamilton, was ready to be stitched up. His upper left leg was tingling. He had only had his prosthetic on for a few hours, but it was starting to pinch. He’d have to take a rest before going to talk to the Hamiltons. 

Hamilton. For some reason, that name made his heart feel like lead. Hamilton. 

Perhaps it was a clue. Or maybe it was nothing. 

Hamilton. Hamilton. Hamilton. He could feel the memory at the edge of his mind. He had been like this for almost two years, on the cusp of figuring out the six year gap in his mind. Hamilton. Hamilton. His mind repeated as he stitched up the boy. 

Hamilton. What did it mean? And why did that name bring back such powerful, but fleeting, memories?

-X- 

“Philip did great during surgery,” Dr. Barton, Pip’s doctor, said. “He’ll be in the recovery room in about five minutes. We’ll still have to keep him under observation to be sure that he doesn’t develop an infection or pneumonia, but he could not have been a better patient.” 

Eliza breathed for what felt like the first time since she first heard the news about Pip. Alex wrapped his arms around her tightly, and then he buried his face in her hair. 

“Our cardiothoracic surgeon will be here in just a few minutes to discuss the effect that this will have on the future of his lung function,” Dr. Barton continued. “But he is currently occupied with consulting on an emergency. I hope that’s not an issue.” 

“It’s not,” Eliza said. She threw her arms around Dr. Barton. Dr. Barton stiffened for a moment but then she slowly hugged Eliza back. “Thank you so much.”

“Where is he now?” Alex asked. 

As if summoned by Alex’s question, Dr. Barton’s tablet pinged. “He’s in recovery room number 4 in the ICU. I’ll take you there.” 

Eliza grabbed Alex’s hand and squeezed tightly. Their son was going to be okay. He had a long road of recovery ahead of him, but he was going to be okay. Eliza could breathe again. 

“We’re going to keep him intubated for the next 12 hours to give his lungs time to recover, which means that he will have to remain sedated,” Dr. Barton explained as they stepped on the elevator. 

“Okay,” Eliza acknowledged. 

“We can have the social worker come over and discuss options for housing if you want to stay close to the hospital.”

“That would be great,” Alex agreed, offering the first smile she had seen of him since the entire ordeal started. “We live in Harrison, so it would be ideal for at least one of us to be able to stay with him overnight.” 

Dr. Barton nodded. “Do you have any other children?” She asked. 

Eliza nodded. “We have three little ones, all younger than Philip.” And a fourth on the way, she added to herself, pressing her hand against her abdomen. She had just found out this morning, and she was at the OB-GYN’s office when she got the call about Pip. 

“We can arrange for the child life specialist to come down when they visit to help explain why their brother is sick. It takes a lot of burden off the parents. We do ask that you wait a few days, and that you make sure that none of your kids have any symptoms of sickness,” Dr. Barton said. 

They arrived in the fifth floor, where the ICU was. Dr. Barton led them to room #4. 

“I’ll leave you with some privacy,” she said. “But Dr. Lawrence should be here in a few minutes to explain about Philip’s long term issues.” 

Eliza nodded, but her focus was gone. She was too busy staring at her son. He looked smaller than ever, on the hospital bed. He was so pale, and he had tubes and wires everywhere. 

Eliza gasped as she approached her son’s bed. 

“Oh, Pip,” she cooed, carefully brushing back his curls. He were long and unruly, and they reminded her so much of John’s that it hurt sometimes. “Everything is gonna be alright.” 

Alex was immediately on Pip’s other side. Eliza knew that Alex hated hospitals. It reminded him too much of losing his mother and, eventually, his cousin Peter.

“Hey, buddy,” Alex said. His voice sounded so heavy, and Eliza wanted nothing more than to take away his pain. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

Even though Eliza didn’t know if her son could hear her, it was nice to talk to him at the very least. They stood there, both of them talking to their son for several moments when the door to the room opened. 

Alex suddenly stood up ramrod straight, but Eliza was still too focused on her son to look up. 

“I’m Dr. Lawrence,” the doctor said, and he sounded familiar. Still, Eliza focused on her son. 

“As I’m sure Dr. Barton notified you, Philip did extraordinarily well during surgery. However, we do believe that the injury has compromised his permanent lung function. He may find it difficult to breathe during exercise and may have issues if he decides to play sports. He’ll be able to get an exemption from PE for at least the next year as his right lung heals, and he’ll have to take it easy for at least the next six months as far as physical activities go. He may benefit from physical therapy so that we can monitor his lung function while he exercises. Barring those restrictions, however, Philip will make a full recovery. Do you have any questions for me?” 

The room was dead silent for a moment, until Alex gasped. “John?” He whispered. 

Eliza turned away from Pip and turned to face Dr. Lawrence. 

She, too, gasped at the sight, because, standing in front of her, alive and whole, was John Laurens, Pip’s biological father and one of the loves of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you love it? Hate it? Would you be willing to read it if I continued? Lemme know in the comments.


End file.
